Thursday, 28 July 2016

His Royal Highness,The Tamil Tiger - FICTION

By

Kathir Balasundaram

Chapter 12

Money Talks

Haran Kandiah returned to Jaffna
by Thursday night—the same night of Raman’s suicide.
His stay at the KilinochchiBaseHospital
had at least allowed him to breathe again and get his asthma back under some
measure of control. He returned determined to raise the sixteen million rupees
and rescue his sister from the clutches of the wretched Tamil Tigers.

First, he called his niece, Dr.MaithilyRooban in Australia. To his surprise, she was
already aware of the situation regarding her mother. Her nervous voice spoke
volumes about the tension the younger woman was under. “Mama,” she said
using the familiar Tamil term for ‘uncle.’ “My husband and I just bought a
rather large house. We don’t have a dime right now. Our mortgage and utilities
are taking everything we make.” Haran
heard her swallow hard. “My husband recently took out a loan of 18,000 US dollars
to help pay for a dowry for his sister…Mama, I don’t know what to do!”

This set Haran,
a retired postmaster back on his heels. He had truly expected that his niece
and her husband, both doctors in Sydney, would bear a portion
of the fine. But any notion he had of quickly collecting the fine was shattered
under the weight of his niece’s words. His heart heavy, he listened as his
niece outlined more of her money woes.

“I’ll do my best, Mama, to help. I’ve applied
for two loans from two different banks. I think I can scrape enough for at
least three million Sri Lankan rupees—that’s about 25,000 US dollars. I’m
hoping some of my friends will help…and Mama? I’ll come there personally
with what I collect. You’ll have to sell the house and the shop on Stanley Road.
Hopefully you can at least get thirteen million rupees from them.”

Haran was shaking his large head even though his niece couldn’t see it.
“It won’t get much more than eight million,” he corrected. “But I’ll put them
up for sale the first thing tomorrow.”

“What about the car? Can’t we sell that?”

“The Tamil Tigers took her car.”

“Oh! My God!” Haran
could hear her heavy breathing. “Well, what about her jewelry?”

“She was wearing half of it when she went there, and the last I saw
her, she wasn’t wearing it anymore. I don’t think we’ll ever see any of it
again.”

A long painful pause followed that. “Well, sell everything that’s
left,” she instructed. “What about auntie’s jewelry? Can you pawn that? I
promise to redeem them as soon as possible.”

“I’ll ask her, Maithily. I think she’ll agree. You know how much she
loves your mother.”

“Thank you. Please try hard,” she whispered.

“I’ll take up a collectionat Vembady
Girls’ College” he added. “I’ll call you next week to give you an update.
We’ll do this. We’ll get her out of there very soon.

“When is the deadline?”

“February 9th.”

Maithily paused to digest that information and to do some mental
calculations in her head. “Thank you, Mama. God bless you.”

He returned the compliment and they hung up.

The next day, he arrived at the Uthayn Newspaper Press headquarters
by noon. He requested them
to print an advertisement for VasanthaVelautham’s house on Waiman Road,
Nallur—a northern suburb of the City of Jaffna.
He also included one for her shop on Stanley
Road in downtown.

Thus, by Saturday, a long line of people had arrived to view and
possibly purchase the Principal’s house. Haran Kandiah stood dumbfounded at the
number of people that waited for him. The crowd was large enough to create
congestion in the road that ran past his sister’s house. Cars, motorcycles, and
a plethora of bikes lined the street.

His heart rejoiced to see it. If there was enough competition, then
he might be able to raise all the money he needed to free his sister quickly.

He tried to organize the crowd into a line, but the people held a
deep seated aversion to waiting in lines, so as soon as the gate opened, the
entire crowd tried to push through at the same time. He stood his ground just
inside and shouted, “Get out! Form a line! Come in one at a time!”

They grumbled, shoved one another, and shouted some, but eventually
they all crowded back out the gate. Haran
went to the large porch—big enough to park two cars underneath—and turned to
see the first man approaching. He carried a soiled jute sack over one shoulder
and his clothing look disheveled.

As Haran
watched him approach, he pulled out a Jaffna
cigar and stuck it in his mouth, his hands pattingpockets
for the lighter. “Take a seat,” he said to the man, pointing to one of the two
lawn chairs underneath the porch.

They both took their seats and immediately sized each other up
before the serious bargaining took place. Haran
lit his cigar and took a couple of puffs while watching the other man. The
potential buyer’s face was lathered in sweat, and his clothing looked drenched
as well. Haran
turned slightly to spit a long arc of tobacco juice into a bed of flowers. He
grinned. “Are you interested in the house then?”

The potential buyer’s eyes trailed from Haran’s large head to the house itself. He
nodded. “Sir, I’m from the village
of Alaveddy. I rode my
bicycle twelve kilometers to get here.” That explained the sweat, anyway, Haran thought to himself.
The man continued, “I am prepared to buy the house without the furniture. What
is your price?”

Haran had his doubts that this man could possibly pay such a large
amount. He nearly sent the man away until a thought struck him. What if the man
had relatives or children who lived abroad as refugees? They might have sent
him some money. Settling more firmly into his chair, he proclaimed, “Nine
million.”

“Nine million! Are you insane? For this old house?”

“Hey, the house was built only about ten years ago!” Haran pointed to the
house. “It has two stories, five bedrooms and two sitting rooms—one up and one
down. It has two full bathrooms. Look at this porch,” he declared, stomping on
the cement. “You could park two cars here. The house itself sits on a half acre
of land and has privacy walls all the way around. There are twelve coconut
trees, five mango trees, two jack-fruit trees, and one gooseberry tree on the
property.”

The buyer shook his head. “Since the civil war, property values have
plummeted drastically. My cousin bought a house in the town of Sivathalam Avarankal as large as this one for
only sixty thousand rupees. In fact,” he said excitedly, leaning forward, “the
house is famous. His Royal Highness hid in the basement for some weeks.”

“SivathalamAvarankal is a small town of
farmers far away from the city,” Haran
retorted dismissively. “This house is on the border of the Northern Province capital city. There is no
comparison.”

“Sure, sure,” the man said, backing away a bit.

“Look—what’s your name?”

“Call me Mr.Alaveddy.”

“Mr.Alaveddy, you are the first one to look at
the house. What is your offer?”

“You do know that as long as the civil war goes on and the Tamil
Tigers exist, no one will pour a lot of money into any house in Jaffna.”

“You’re stalling. What’s your offer?”

“We can do this easy,” Alaveddy said. “No one has to know. We can do
it privately without anyone knowing the selling price.”

“You still haven’t made an offer,” Haran said, exasperated.

“Okay, but keep it secret. I’m offering one million and one hundred
thousand rupees for this old house. I’ve got the money here in this sack. Shall
we go to a lawyer and get the deed finalized?”

Haran stared at the filthy sack over the man’s shoulder. He wondered if
the man had actually brought that much cash with him. The sack looked like the
only thing it had ever carried was onions or potatoes. “You’re just the first
bidder,” he pointed out. “You’re just trying to get it at a bargain price. You
just want to swindle me knowing that I am desperate to get my sister out of
prison!”

“Calm down, sir!” He licked his lips, thinking. “You seem to have a
medical condition of some sort,” he said, observing the tale-tale signs of an
asthma patient. “Asthma, isn’t it? Getting all bent out of shape is not good
for you. Look, I’ll throw in an additional two hundred thousand rupees, and
I’ll give you five thousand in advance.”

“This isn’t a barn shed you’re buying, mister!”

“Sir, you come from a great family, one that is known all over Jaffna. Your sister is
famous. Please have a bit of sympathy on me. I’m prepared to pay you one
million and four hundred thousand rupees. Please, accept this advance—”

“Get out of here,” Haran
stormed. “You’re just trying to cheat me. There are a lot of other bidders. Go
away!”

The man looked nervously around and stood up slowly. “Sure thing,”
he muttered taking a few steps away. He stopped and turned back. “What about
one and a half million?”

“Go!” Haran
barked.

The man jumped and darted away. Haran sighed and rubbed his chin. He hoped
the other customers would offer something better. He couldn’t bear the thought
that one and a half million was all he could get for his sister’s house.

Yelling and curses drew his attention to the front gate. He puffed
on his cigar and squinted his eyes to
see better. It looked like a riot had broken out. Then, like a conquering hero,
a middle aged woman broke through the gate, chattering angrily at those trying
to squeeze in behind her. She slammed the gate closed and marched over to Haran who watched it all
with something akin to wonder.

When the woman saw Haran,
a large smile blossomed on her lips. Haran
nodded to himself as he looked at her. This woman was obviously well-to-do. Her
rich clothing confirmed it, and her violet pottus
between and above her eyebrows proclaimed her married status. Things
were beginning to look up, he believed.

“Take a seat, Madam,” he said, standing up politely as she neared.
“Where are you from?”

“I’m from Kudathanai.”

“How far away is that?”

“About thirty eight kilometers. My five children are abroad because
of the civil war. Two are in Canada,
another in France, one in the States, and the last
in Italy.
I want to buy this house for them. When they come to visit, it would be good
for them to stay in a house like this one.”

Excited now, he tossed his cigar away and sat up straighter in his
chair. His eyes lit with anticipation and hope. Maybe he could pull this off
after all! He already envisioned getting his sister out of prison and returning
her to her former position as the Principal of Vembady Girls’ College. Then he
frowned as a thought struck him. “Why can’t they stay in Kudathanai with you?”

“Their children aren’t used to our way of life. They require modern
facilities like those found in western countries. Being near the city is an
added bonus for them.”

“Well then, did you have an offer in mind?”

She nodded happily. “I’m also interested in the shop. Tell me, how
much do you want for the house, first?”

Haran mentally calculated the woman’s expensive gold jewelry and her
assets abroad—in the form of her children, and said, “Ten million.”

Haran gaped at the woman in astonishment. He couldn’t believe it! First a
disheveled, obviously poor man and now this just as obviously rich woman offers
him the exact same amounts!

“Sir,” she said in a soft voice. “I have the money in my car. Shall
I go get it?”

“No. Just go away,” he said waving his hand at her and passing his
other hand over his eyes.

“What?”

“Get out of here.” It all started to make sense to him now.

“What about one million, six hundred thousand?” she tossed out.

He snapped a finger at the woman. “You must be in league with the
last fellow! You put on some fancy makeup and jewels—that probably isn’t even
yours—and you come here trying to pull a fast one on me! The land itself is
worth more than a million! Just go away!”

The lady from Kudthanani stood up from her chair, a playful smile
crossing her lips. “Sure, but sir, what about one million, eight hundred
thousand?”

He swore at her and pointed to the gate. “Get out!”

She sighed and shrugged. “Okay, what about that piece of fallen
jack-fruit there. Can I buy that?”

Again, he felt a ripple of surprise. They never sold fruit from the compound to acquire wealth.They always allowed
people to take it away freely. “Just take it.”

“How much?”

“It’s yours for free. Take it and leave, please.”

After the woman left, his third potential buyer turned out to be a
young man who had ridden a motorcycle to the residence. He looked more like a
tourist in his denim jeans, red t-shirt, and green cap. He removed his sun
glasses as he neared, and said loudly, “Sir, the lady that just left said she
offered you one million and eight hundred thousand rupees. I’ll give you one
million, nine hundred thousand for it. Do we have a deal?”

“Don’t even bother sitting down,” Haran growled as the other moved towards the
chair. The young man frowned in confusion, obviously thinking Haran had lost his senses. Haran grew even more irritable. “Get out,
please.”

“I’m going,” he said snapping his sunglasses back on. “But a piece
of advice, sir. No one who comes in here is going to dig you out of the hole
your sister dug for you.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice!” he shouted.

Shrugging, the young man turned and left.

By the time the sun went down that night, Haran Kandiah had
interviewed sixty-two potential buyers. Looking up at the darkening sky, he
lost himself to the cawing noises of giant flocks of crows returning to their
nesting grounds.

His heart lay heavy inside him. The outcome had been dismal. Even
though four weeks remained before he had to come up with the sixteen million
rupees, his confidence had been utterly shattered. He laid back on the lawn
chair wheezing and coughing up thick yellow phlegm. This is how his wife,
Malar, found him sometime later. Her large sympathetic eyes fell over him. They
had married twenty nine years ago just after she left Vembady Girls’ College. She had put on some
weight in the years since, and wore gold framed spectacles to help her failing
eyesight, but he loved her with all his heart.

“I didn’t even get an offer of two million for the house,” he
complained. He shook his head. “No one was even willing to pay more than a
million for the shop.”

“I never thought you’d get a lot,” she reminded him.

“I know. I just never thought people would be so stingy. Almost all
of them were aware of my desperation. Each tried to take advantage of it too.
Mankind has sunk to new lows, my darling! They’re like animals fighting over
table scraps, not caring that those scraps are the dreams and hopes of an
innocent woman unjustly imprisoned!”

“Down deep, you expected this,” she replied. “Many people talk that
dumping a lot of money into Jaffna
is like burning it instead. No one is willing to commit money to something that
has such a high risk. The Tamil Tigers have made this entire peninsula a high
risk investment.” She sat down on the edge of the other chair. “No one knows
when war will break out again. Few believe that the Cease Fire Agreement will
actually last, and everyone is expecting bombs to fall on the city again.” She
reached over and patted his hand. “Did you really believe you could raise
enough money from the sale of these properties to free your sister?”

He shook his head in defeat.

“Darling, there is a proverb that says that the customer is always
right.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Tears sprang to his eyes and his
dear, precious wife moved over and lovingly wiped them away with the edge of
her sari. They had no children, just each other, and so they sat in the
darkened porch for a long time, each trying to take comfort in the other’s
presence. Hopes and fears intermingled
and wrestled for dominance in their hearts. Neither knew what the future would
hold, but at the moment, their family stood on a precipice of destruction. His
dear sister was caught in a web of deceit and vengeance—a power struggle that
would eventually determine the fate of all the Tamil but more importantly, for Haran anyway, the fate of
his family.